


Which Way To Go

by Jimbertforever



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sexual Experimentation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5150858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimbertforever/pseuds/Jimbertforever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I found this Jimbert on the Internet and I loved it at first sight.<br/>Any attempt to get in touch with the author was vain. :(<br/>Hope you like it as much as I did and I do. :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I found this Jimbert on the Internet and I loved it at first sight.  
> Any attempt to get in touch with the author was vain. :(  
> Hope you like it as much as I did and I do. :)

"Wait, wait, wait," called Jimmy, waving his hands as if he were shooing them all away. Barely half a minute into the take, the instruments fell silent again. He pushed the headphones off of his ears. "Is nobody listening? Bonzo, I told you to move the kick-drum mic closer-"

"And there ‘tis, Guvnor!" Bonzo said loudly. He jabbed a drumstick at the microphone in question and added under his breath where exactly Jimmy could put it, just audible enough for John Paul to hear. The bassist ducked his head to hide his laughter. "It is as close as can be, per your instructions." He made a flourishing mock-salute with the other drumstick.

"Mr. Page, I believe your rhythm section is mutinying against you," Robert intoned through his microphone like a game show host.

"All right, Jesus, I couldn't hear the bloody difference," Jimmy snapped. "Go again, then. Take-what take are we on?"

"Five hundred... and twelve," said Robert.

"Take five hundred and twelve! In which John Bonham bashes his head in against the floor tom!" Bonzo announced.

"Okay," said Jimmy. "Fine. We'll break for the day." He stood on the spot, eyes narrowed in thought, left wrist resting on the neck of his guitar.

"Look at him, he's scheming," said Bonzo. "Don't you look at me with that scheming face, Page."

"Are we really-" John Paul began.

"-done?" finished Robert warily.

"Yes," said Jimmy, and without another word he switched off the amplifier, unplugged his guitar and stalked out of the studio through the control room door. 

"It seems that we may see the light of day today," said Bonzo. He flung his drumsticks into the air in celebration and got up from the drum kit. "I'm off to the pub before the whipmaster finds an excuse to keep us here all night."

Through the glass wall of the editing booth, they could see the whipmaster pacing back and forth along the control board, talking into a telephone receiver and twining the cord around his fingers.

"You'd better move fast," said Robert.

"Come on, Jonesy, let's be off, shall we?" Bonzo paused and held the door open, looking back at them expectantly.

"I'll be right there," John Paul assured him as he packed up his equipment with the usual fastidious care.

"Fuss, fuss," Bonzo said before shutting the door behind him.

John Paul's eyes darted between Robert and the slim, dark-haired figure in the glass booth. "You coming along?" he asked Robert, latching the instrument case shut.

"Possibly. Or not," Robert said casually.

"Well, have a good night then," said the bassist. He gave a small, knowing smile and raised a hand in farewell before leaving.

Trust John Paul to pick up on what was going on as soon as it had started, probably even before either Robert or Jimmy quite understood it themselves. Robert didn't know to what extent John Paul was aware, but he knew he could trust the bassist's silence. It was nice to have one less thing to worry about in this already convoluted situation.

When Robert entered the control booth, he found the phone back in its cradle and Jimmy hunched over his guitar, sitting in a chair with his back to the door. He didn't look up, not even when Robert moved to take the seat opposite him. His eyelids were shut as if in a trance, thick eyelashes brushing his cheeks, dark curls hanging softly across his face. The only movements came from his lips, slightly parted and twitching minutely as his fingers glided over the guitar strings. The notes clacked faintly out of the unamplified Les Paul, and Robert recognized them as pieces of a recently invented riff, a slow, dreamy one floating tentatively in the air and asking for lyrics to go with it. Perhaps it just wasn't the right time yet, because Robert's brain was hopelessly out of words at the moment. This probably also had a lot to do with the fact that he was alone with Jimmy in an enclosed space in an empty building.

Finally his eyelids lifted and his eyes, a secretive green color that was difficult to discern unless you were very near him, settled on Robert's blue ones with a gaze that almost felt like a touch. His fingers slowed and came to a rest on the fretboard.

"Who were you on the phone with?" Robert asked.

"The owner of Headley Grange."

"Oh, right, I remember- " His speech cut off, startled, as his eyes suddenly found the mess of blood smeared along the guitar neck. "Jimmy, good God, your hand."

Jimmy raised his left hand to his vision and blinked slowly at it. Narrow ruts were sliced into his fingertips, tracks of blood running down his fingers and turning into dark red smudges on his palm. "Hm," he said without much alarm. "I didn't even notice. Funny, that."

Wordlessly Robert slid his hand palm-up beneath Jimmy's, grasping his wrist. Their eyes locked as Robert brought the injured hand to his lips and took the index finger into his mouth. He watched Jimmy's expression as he gently licked it clean of blood. The green eyes looked on intently, hungrily as every last coppery drop of blood was cleaned from his fingers and palm. When Robert was finished and pulled back, he was met with a look of pure heat that made his skin tingle. He licked his lips and raised his eyebrows in tacit provocation.

They separated for a moment so that Jimmy could lift the strap over his head and prop the guitar against the control board, out of the way. Now it was Jimmy who was leaning in, his breath hot against Robert's face and his touch trailing from Robert's shoulder down to the singer's hand. He lifted it and guided it to the crotch of his jeans. A sly smile flickered across his lips. He didn't even have to ask-in an instant Robert was kneeling between the other man's legs, unzipping the stiff member from its confines. Jimmy let out a nearly inaudible hiss and shifted in his chair, his hands gripping the sides as if he might fall right off. Robert felt a hand cupping the side of his head as he took Jimmy's cock into his mouth and tasted the tang of the precum. He looked up at Jimmy while slowly beginning to move his mouth up and down the shaft and saw a picture of tightly contained desire: Jimmy's eyes were squeezed shut, his face tilted toward the ceiling, his shoulders trembling with the effort to breath normally. Robert had guessed that this was definitely not the way Jimmy behaved with girls; he wasn't sure if he should feel disappointed that Jimmy was holding back, or gratified that he, Robert, was wholly special and different. Even as the blond tried every move he knew, licking, sucking, rubbing, nibbling, stroking, he got no reaction, no movement of the hips, no rough gasps, just the light pressure of the hand against his head. Jimmy rarely ever made any noise and this irritated Robert, who was accustomed to hearing words and moans and panting to praise him and tell him how well he was doing. The silence was also motivating and made him try that much harder, so that when he did provoke a sound out of the guitarist, it was very rewarding. A stifled groan slipped from between Jimmy's lips and he arched his neck; Robert smiled around the shaft and sped up his ministrations. He felt Jimmy's hand tremble and a shudder wrack the guitarist's body as he came into Robert's mouth.

Robert rested the side of his face on Jimmy's thigh and basked in the dreamy smile on the guitarist's face, his slender fingers stroking absently through Robert's golden curls. His eyes glinted in self-satisfaction. "I think I have an idea how to get the kind of drum sound I've been looking for," he murmured.

This made Robert recoil. He scoffed and got to his feet. "Great. Glad I could assist in your thought process," he said bitterly, stepping back to put a tense space between them.

Jimmy finished with the zipper and button on his pants and looked up at Robert with an infuriating lack of concern on his face. "You should suck me off more often," he said. "Who knows what I might think of next?"

"Sod off, why don't you? I'm not your fucking groupie."

"I'm not forcing you to do any of this-"

"Really? So what was that, you accidentally grabbed my hand and accidentally dropped it between your legs?"

"Please, can we put the childish theatrics on hold for a moment," Jimmy said disdainfully-he even had the nerve to roll his eyes. "And attend to the current situation."

"The one where you're in denial?" Robert said.

"No. The music thing, Robert."

"Pardon me for sidetracking us. All my fault."

The brunette closed his eyes loftily and took on a "God, grant me patience" expression for a moment. "I am going to Headley Grange," he said.

"What? Right now?"

"In a little while, yes. I think I'd like to move recording there. We need a change of scenery, I believe. I'm going to go down there and set up, and we can start fresh tomorrow morning."

Robert regarded him skeptically.

"I'm going to get the Stones' mobile studio down there as well."

Pursing his lips, Robert waited and said nothing.

"Would you like to come with me?" Jimmy asked at last, a self-conscious strain in his voice.

"If you insist," said Robert sweetly.

"All right. Shall we go and get ready, and I'll be round to get you in"-he crooked his wrist upward and glanced at the watch face-"an hour?"

"Just us, then?"

"I don't see the need to bring anybody else," Jimmy said. He now appeared equal parts annoyed and amused, which cheered Robert up a great deal.

"Well, see you then," he said briskly, cuffing Jimmy affectionately on the shoulder as he brushed passed him and out of the control booth.

\----

The drive took longer than usual, nearly two hours due to a relentless winter rainstorm, and afternoon had turned into evening with the sky a slightly darker shade of muddy gray by the time they arrived. Hauling the various gear-two guitars, an amp, assorted microphones and cables, recording equipment-that Jimmy insisted on bringing required several trips back and forth from the van to the house, and by the time they were safely indoors with all of their material burdens, they found themselves thoroughly soaked. The fact that the place had no central heating did not make things much better. While Jimmy was carefully trying to wring himself out as best he could, he was accosted by a spray of water from Robert's hair when the singer shook out his blond mane like a wet dog. Jimmy made a noise of pronounced displeasure and Robert burst out laughing at him. "You look rather bedraggled," he said. "My, it's going to be a bit nippy tonight, isn't it? Look, I think I can see my breath." Before Jimmy had a chance to fit in a snide retort, Robert had trotted off to the living room to start a fire in the fireplace.

He knelt on the thick, furry hearthrug and deftly constructed a pile of firewood, using several matches to coax a small, defiant flame into existence. Soon the flame was crackling merrily to itself as it expanded and leapt from twig to branch to log, casting promising tongues of light into the damp shadows of the room and warming the chilly air. Robert sighed contentedly and sat back on his heels to survey his handiwork. Jimmy was there kneeling next to him, huddling surreptitiously closer to the warmth of the fire and Robert's body.

"You know," said Robert, "clothes take forever to dry when you're wearing them."

"Indeed they do," said Jimmy, turning to give the singer a wickedly expectant little grin.


	2. Chapter 2

Moving to kneel at Robert's side, Jimmy's hands were there at his neck, combing the golden hair away from his face, lightly caressing the exposed skin, lips brushing against the edge of his ear. Robert's skin prickled as the heat coursing through him contrasted with the feeling of cold wet fabric clinging to his body. He turned his face to meet Jimmy's, and found a set of green eyes that held tiny twin reflections of the fire before them. The move put their lips less than an inch apart and this seemed to take Jimmy by surprise. Robert captured the hesitant mouth, pressing softly, almost curiously. After a moment Jimmy began pushing back. For some reason he was being disappointingly timid.

"What's this? You can do better than that, can't you?" Robert said, unsticking a damp curl from the side of Jimmy's face.

"Give me a second," Jimmy muttered. "It's been a while."

"It's been only a few hours-"

"No, not that. The... the kissing, I mean. All of this is scrambling my brain just a bit."

"Well, then let it be scrambled," Robert said. "Do you want this or not?"

"I want it."

"Do you want me?"

"I want you," Jimmy growled, and he forced Robert onto his back, molding himself to the other man's body and kissing him deeply. They rolled so that they lay on their sides to face each other, each fumbling at the buttons of the other's shirt. This took a painfully long time, what with their lips engaged in a furious kiss and their hands bumping clumsily. Jimmy had Robert's undone first, and the feeling of his fingers exploring the singer's flesh made Robert groan and tug at the remaining buttons in frustration.

"Don't rip it," Jimmy warned.

Robert promptly ignored him and sliced his fingers downward as if he were opening an envelope. He hurled himself back on top of Jimmy, squeezing the other man's legs between his and nearly wrestling the brunette out of the now-torn blouse. He paused to take in the sight of Jimmy lying bare-chested and spread-eagled on the rug, the dark, gleaming hair spilled around his head, the beautiful, birdlike chest heaving up and down.

"I told you not to rip it."

"Oh, shut up," Robert said gleefully, leaning down and sliding his forearms beneath Jimmy's back to raise his upper body, their chests crushing together as their lips met again.

Without warning Jimmy pushed upwards, knocking Robert off balance and retaking the top spot.

"Okay," Robert panted. "How many more times are we going to switch before... oh, God, Jimmy-" He bucked his hips helplessly; Jimmy had undone the front of his jeans and was delving inside, exploring with a kind of detached fascination.

"I didn't bring any lubricant," Jimmy said, finding the outline of Robert's shaft and rubbing it through the fabric of his boxers.

"There's some in the outer pouch of my bag," Robert said. "Over by the sofa."

Jimmy got up for a moment and disappeared into the dark beyond the ring of firelight. He returned to stand by the rug. Robert heard the telltale clinking of a metal belt buckle and the swishing of denim. When the brunette lowered himself to the rug again, Robert sat up and quickly snatched the bottle out of his hand. "Thank you," he said breezily, and set upon finishing the process of undressing.

"Robert, what are you doing?"

"Shall I apply the lube or would you like to do it for me?" Robert offered it back chivalrously.

"Wait," Jimmy protested. "But last time, I was-"

"Come on, it's my turn."

"Robert!"

"Lie down," he soothed, pulling the other man to rest on his back, and propping himself up on his side to look down upon him. Jimmy didn't seem to be clamoring to do the honors, so Robert went ahead with the lube himself.

"Robert..."

"Are you whinging, Jimmy?"

"I didn't think..." He trailed off again. "What's... what's it feel like? Does it feel all right?"

"It feels a little like this," Robert murmured, and slipped two moistened fingers inside of him. Jimmy inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing up. Robert watched his face intently as he moved his fingers, searching for the right place and finally finding it-Jimmy's eyelids fluttered and his lips parted to release a long, low moan, and Robert increased the speed and pressure of his touch. Now Jimmy was whimpering and grinding himself wantonly against Robert's hand. At the addition of Robert's other hand closing around Jimmy's cock and jerking him off, the guitarist was hopelessly under his power. Robert let this go on for a little while longer before abruptly removing all physical contact.

"Fucking bastard," Jimmy wheezed, writhing miserably on the rug. "Get back here."

Robert straddled him and met no protest. He leaned down and ran the tip of his tongue along the rim of Jimmy's ear. "That felt good, didn't it?" he whispered. "Hm?"

"God-yes, yes it did," said Jimmy. His palms rubbed hotly up and down Robert's bare back. "More."

"Yeah?" Robert goaded, trying to keep a grip on his control as he lightly pressed himself between Jimmy's legs.

"Just go," Jimmy begged through gritted teeth.

Without further ado, Robert began to ease himself inside, silencing the other man's yelp with an intent kiss. He reached between them and resumed working Jimmy's cock, and felt the other man begin to relax. The heat from the fire and from their bodies seemed to be one and the same, almost unbearably scalding. They were both sweating profusely as they stroked together, slick skin against slick skin as the rain continued to pound against the windowpanes.

He hung on, just barely, in time for Jimmy to finish first, and then let go of himself with a deep-throated cry. His arms suddenly turned to water and it was all he could do to keep himself from collapsing roughly onto Jimmy; carefully he lowered himself down to the guitarist's side, curling protectively around him.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Robert whispered.

Jimmy turned to look at him from beneath sagging eyelids. A soft, tired smile lit up his face. "I can't complain," he said drolly, and shut his eyes.

"Good."

Cracking one eye open, Jimmy added, "On second thought, Robert, the next time I will torture you as you did me, do be assured. But I will make it much, much worse."

"I can hardly wait," Robert said, grinning.

"Be careful what you wish for."

The crackling fire and the incessant cascade of rain were combining in a wash of dull, pleasant noise that nudged them toward sleep. Robert pulled Jimmy into his arms and hummed in contentment. "When's everybody coming tomorrow?" he asked.

"I presume sometime around or after lunch, if the storm keeps on like it's doing now," Jimmy replied.

There were probably more thoughts left in Robert's brain but they evaporated and he drifted mindlessly into sleep, heated on one side by the dying fire and on the other by the breathing warmth of Jimmy's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Wed 11 Nov :)


	3. Chapter 3

When Robert opened his eyes, he was not surprised to find himself alone. The coals in the fireplace had long faded and cooled to dusty ash, and the weak, cloudy daylight was doing its best to light up the room, though it was impossible to tell what time it might be. He rolled onto his back to blink sleepily at the ceiling and noticed with a smile that a blanket had been spread across his body while he slept.

Distant clattering and rustling noises were coming from the other end of the building's first floor. Jimmy had probably gone and set everything up by himself, mostly in the name of productivity, but also so that he could snipe at Robert for being lazy. He sat up, shaking the disheveled mop of curls out of his eyes, and felt his stomach growl. Jimmy's gallant, early-morning musical endeavors had no doubt distracted the guitarist from attending to anything else, most importantly, breakfast.

After washing up, he wandered into the kitchen and found it predictably unattended, except for a now-cold teakettle perched on one of the stove burners. The old fridge that looked to be the direct descendent of an icebox had been recently stocked with the sparsest necessities: milk, eggs, bread and sausages. Robert found a frying pan in one of the cupboards and set it on the stove, pouring oil into it and leaving the stove to heat it up-the elderly appliance took anywhere from ten minutes to forty-five minutes, depending on barometric pressure and current mood, to do as much as boil water. Now to find Jimmy, who was occupied on the other side of the kitchen wall but hadn't bothered to come out and say hello.

He was standing motionless in the front hall at the foot of the staircase, holding a coiled microphone in his hands and tilting his head back intently, staring as if he had just realized that the place had multiple floors. Whatever was up there was much too interesting to bother turning around when Robert came in. "Good morning," said the blond with a helpless grin, walking over to stand behind Jimmy. Robert enfolded the other man in his arms and embraced him. Jimmy winced a little at the sudden and full contact. His shoulder blades dug into Robert's chest like dull knives.

"Good morning," Jimmy echoed in that familiar, inscrutable tone. Robert rested his chin on the guitarist's left shoulder, glancing down as his hair tumbled softly to mix with Jimmy's and admiring how the two different hues of curls contrasted so brilliantly together. He pressed his lips to Jimmy's neck and left them there, inhaling deeply the scent of the pale, soft skin.

"How's your hand?" he asked. He opened his palm and used it to lift and inspect the hand in question. Jimmy spread his fingers to match Robert's.

"Maybe I can play through it," Jimmy said thoughtfully. "We'll see." Leaning back to rest his head on Robert's shoulder, he turned his face so that their eyes were only a few blurry inches apart.

"You're too thin. I can feel your ribs when you breathe," Robert murmured, and ran his hands over the flat of Jimmy's stomach.

"That would be because I don't eat everything in sight," came the saucy reply.

Robert noticed a drained mug of tea sitting on one of the road cases. "I believe there's a middle ground between stuffing your face and attempting to subsist only on hot water and cigarettes."

"Bah, nutrition, who needs that?" Jimmy said. Robert laughed softly in his ear and began to edge a hand lower, his palm approaching the place between Jimmy's legs at a deliberately unhurried speed. This provoked a sigh from the other man, a roughly disrupted breath that was powerful enough to send bolts of heat to Robert's groin. The only thing he loved more than teasing Jimmy was pleasing him.

Jimmy arched his back like a cat and pushed himself back against Robert's hips. Robert abandoned the torment of withholding his touch-a game that was really more Jimmy's inclination than his own-and cupped him brusquely through his pants. "You like that?" he purred.

To his infinite chagrin, Jimmy snapped abruptly out of his trance and pushed Robert's hand away. "Not right now," he gasped, attempting a sternly aloof tone but falling slightly short. He turned around to face Robert and stepped back to leave a shocked, deflated space between their bodies. "Oh, for heaven's sake, don't look at me like that. Have you got no shame at all?"

"Not really," said Robert, pouting theatrically. He hid a very real, crushing disappointment behind his exaggerated expression. Jimmy's habit of flipping on and off at will like a disagreeable light switch was wearing on the singer like it never had before. They had been playing at this for years, an endless back-and-forth of surreptitious glances and secret stares, always to retreat behind separate, locked doors at the end of the day. Now the doors were yawning open; the walls had been irreparably torn down, and Jimmy seemed still to want to have it both ways. Robert didn't understand what was so fucking complicated about it, but he had yet to tread too heavily anywhere near the direct topic for fear of losing all the ground they had just gained.

"The Ancient Greeks built a theater, a theater out of stone with tiered seats and an open top, that has perfect acoustics," he said, gazing up the staircase to the uppermost floor's ceiling far above. "It was an accident, and they only did it once-every subsequent attempt was a failure."

"And why was that?" Robert asked. He wondered if Jimmy had indulged in something besides tea this morning.

"Nobody knows," Jimmy said vaguely.

"What kind of story is that?"

"It's not a story."

"Right."

"It was just a fact."

"It was pretty stupid."

Jimmy ignored the jibe and pointed upward. "We need to get a microphone up there," he announced.

"Jimmy, whatever you've been smoking, it was very rude of you not to share it with me."

"I haven't been smoking anything," Jimmy said. "Now, I'm going up there to rig up the microphone, and I would appreciate your assistance."

"I can't levitate you up there, sorry. Oh, there's the frying pan," said Robert. "Be back in a twinkling." He went to attend to the heated oil, which was spitting rather rabidly. To his own surprise, he managed to cook a respectable pan of sausages.

Jimmy was knee-deep in recording equipment, creating the perfect configuration with the careful attention of a little kid setting up his set of toy soldiers. "The drums will go here," he said with a wave toward the floor at the base of the stairs. He appeared to be talking to himself.

"You're beyond adorable," Robert said, standing in the doorway with a plate of food in either hand. Jimmy turned around, caught off guard, and smiled shyly. "Now come eat."

"Hang on, I have to unpack the last cab-"

"No you don't. You're going to eat if I have to tie you to a chair and force the food down your throat."

"Oh, my," said Jimmy, raising his eyebrows. "Tied to a chair," he mumbled, following Robert into the dining room. He was giving Robert a very mischievous look.

"Did you just get another idea?"

"I think so."

They managed to rig one of the microphones at the top of the staircase, which made Jimmy very excited. He spent the next hour and a half sitting on an empty road case, holding his Gibson in his lap and watching the driveway through the front window. He was in such a good mood that when a van rolled up carrying Bonzo, John Paul and the rest of the equipment, he actually broke into a run when going out to meet them.

"Should I be afraid?" Bonzo asked Robert from the other side of the bass drum case they were lugging into the house.

"He's gotten so sick of you, Bonzo, that he's put you in an entirely different room from the rest of us," Robert deadpanned.

Bonzo roared with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Sun 15 Nov :)


	4. Chapter 4

"See, nobody else has ever used this method for amplification before," Jimmy explained when they were all inside with the equipment and a great deal of groceries that the rhythm section had the presence of mind to purchase on the way through the nearest town. "We can test it out and see if we need to adjust the positions of the microphones. I'm not sure how the balance will be."

"How do you know nobody's done this already?" Robert asked.

"I... I'm quite certain of it," Jimmy said.

"Are we going to blow the roof off of music history again?"

"Yes, Robert, there is _no one_ like us."

"I feel that we would be hailed as geniuses more often if you stopped talking about how innovative we are," Robert mused.

"What? You mean to the press? That's not me who does that, that's... that's Pete Townshend. He's a media slag."

"I thought you said you had nothing against him," John Paul said slyly.

"The truth comes out," said Bonzo.

"It would reflect better on us," said Robert, "if we kept doing genius things by accident. You know, like the Ancient Greeks."

"What are we talking about? Can we stay on topic, please?" Jimmy said.

"Some of us just got here," said Bonzo. "Give us a moment."

"Aren't you excited?" Jimmy said, looking a little put out that his history-changing idea was not being hailed with greater fanfare.

The drummer glanced up into the acoustic space that would be all his. "Yeah, mate, but I'm hungry as well."

Jimmy exhaled long-sufferingly.

"I brought some steak," said Bonzo, brandishing a grocery bag at them. "Hereford prime rib. And Jonesy brought his apron." He cackled.

"I brought some other food," said John Paul tolerantly. "Just in case we get tired of steak." He moved out of the entryway to the kitchen, a bag of groceries in either arm.

"We've also got twenty cases worth of the sauce. That's the rest of these bags over here."

"Good Lord," said Jimmy.

"What's in here?" asked Robert, kneeling down to peer into a neighboring village of bags gathered innocently on the floor.

"A small arsenal of fireworks," said Bonzo.

Everyone paused to contemplate this for a moment.

"What in God's name do we need fireworks for?" Jimmy said in utter exasperation. "Are you expecting the Luftwaffe?"

"We can't hardly wreck the place, can we?" said Bonzo. "I need some kind of fun. It's too bloody quiet around here. I can't even watch _Top Gear_."

"That's the point, Bonzo. The point is that we're away from it all. So we can just focus on the music."

"I didn't join a rock and roll band to go on camping trips, I'll tell you that." He moved toward the door. "I'm going to find a place to set these up."

"Have you ever set off fireworks before?" Robert asked.

"Nah. I suspect I'll learn as I go," said Bonzo breezily. With that, he departed outside in search of a suitable testing area.

"Great. What if he blasts his hands off?" Jimmy said, looking quite upset.

"It'll be fine, Pagey," Robert said soothingly, slipping an arm around the tensed shoulders. A hand came up to push at his chest.

"Robert, _don't_ , John Paul is still here!" the guitarist hissed. His eyes darted from window to door to hallway like a startled meerkat trying to sniff out danger.

In response, Robert shushed him and closed his own hand over the one pressing him feebly, holding Jimmy's touch to him, and pulled the other man closer. "Don't fret, darling," he said.

"Don't call me _darling_ ," Jimmy whispered furiously. A hot flush colored his cheeks as he glared at Robert.

"All this resistance is just making you more attractive," Robert said. "Like you wouldn't believe."

Jimmy seemed to decide that putting up a fight would be too conspicuous, and he stopped the halfhearted struggle against Robert's iron grip.

"John Paul already knows, anyway," Robert said lazily. He was working Jimmy into a frenzy and enjoying every second of it.

The brunette went momentarily limp with shock, green eyes widening in horror. "He _what_? Oh my God. How? How does he know?"

Robert took the opportunity to guide Jimmy's slackened hand across his chest, sliding it across his body and placing it firmly in the small of the singer's back, so that Jimmy's arm was now wrapped around Robert's waist. He pressed his face closer and ran a finger lovingly down the guitarist's jawline. "Jonesy is frighteningly observant, you know. I'm pretty sure he caught on the minute we walked into the hotel lobby the morning after we first slept together."

"Lower your voice!" Jimmy snarled rather loudly. Robert raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Well, it's your fault for being so bleeding obvious and stupid about it. "

"Oh, it's my fault? I believe it was you who was being rather relentlessly naughty that night."

"I was soused out of my mind."

In the kitchen, John Paul shook himself mentally and stuck his head nearly all the way inside the refrigerator, immersing himself in a barrier of white noise, and set about plunking the food items down on the wire shelves as loudly as possible.

"And yet you seem to remember it quite well. Strange how that works," Robert was saying.

"Robert..."

"Jimmy," he whispered back, leaning in and nimbly nipping at the other man's earlobe. "God, I love it when you say my name."

He felt soft lips sighing against his neck. "What am I going to do with you?" Jimmy made no effort to pull away.

"Tie me to a piece of furniture?" Robert tried.

Jimmy just laughed and raised his head so they were nose to nose.

"Will you go look after Bonzo?" he said.

"Because it's all right if I lose a few fingers, eh?"

"It would be nice to keep the damage to a minimum. Whilst everyone's bloodstreams are momentarily free of alcohol."

"I will try a preemptive strike," said Robert dutifully.

Pulling back reluctantly, he tweaked Jimmy on the nose and ambled out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Wed 18 Nov :)


	5. Chapter 5

Through a combination of quick reflexes and dumb luck, no fingers fell victim to explosive devices that evening. Jimmy and John Paul were dragged outdoors and forced to watch; they sat in a bench that hung from a large beech tree in the yard, John Paul doggedly reading yesterday's paper by the light of a kerosene lamp that had once been at the cutting edge of technology circa the year 1910. He would glance up at the scene in the sky every few minutes as if keeping a casual eye on some kids running around outside.

"I'm waiting for an awful scream any second now," Jimmy said.

"Sounds like you're hoping for one," said John Paul, calmly refolding the pages into the correct configuration-it had originally been Bonzo's copy, which meant its first page had been glanced at and then its contents thumbed through with all the care that a person like Bonzo could muster (which wasn't much) and had resulted in it being hopelessly crumpled and out of order. Until John Paul got to it, that is.

Jimmy greatly appreciated John Paul's penchant for order and harmony, within and without the realm of music. A band could not succeed without some kind of anchor, some balance between theatrics and seriousness. Jimmy's first choice for the New Yardbirds' replacement bassist had been John Entwistle, a man who commanded restraint and good humor no matter how much his other bandmates gave long-winded interviews or destroyed various private property in order to keep the limelight. It couldn't be helped that Entwistle was already in another band. His declination of Jimmy's offer was a testament to his loyalty-Jimmy decided it was a better idea to find a bassist of his own, a non-recycled bassist. Pete Townshend might have a rhythm section that was, in theory, even greater than Bonzo and Jonesy, but Jimmy was absolutely certain that no band could match the skill and style of Led Zeppelin's singer. He recalled with a lurking warm fuzzy feeling how he had learned of this wild, leonine blues singer up in Birmingham, and on a gut instinct, had taken a gamble in deciding that there was no other vocalist who would do. It had baffled him completely, only a few seconds into the initial audition, how such an obvious talent had yet gone undiscovered. Jimmy knew Robert was quite aware that the guitarist considered him his discovery, and that much of Jimmy's pride in him came from knowing he had chosen brilliantly when plucking the younger man out of relative obscurity straight to the top of the music charts.

This sudden union in the summer of ‘68, a shotgun wedding of sorts, had brought two people together who, Jimmy knew, would never be truly complete as two separate artists ever again. Robert was indebted to him, was arguably a nobody without the great Jimmy Page, and yet the singer held his guitarist in such a high degree of adoration that it was beyond frightening. For it presented the possibility that without Robert, Jimmy would be incomplete-a thought that petrified him. Led Zeppelin was defined by the union of its members and their collective output. Each man was essential to the final product; alone, each might be less successful, his ideas paling in comparison to what the combination could produce. In a bizarre turn of events that made sense in a twisted, logical way, the bond between the two frontmen had steadily progressed toward the closest kind of unity, a line that wasn't supposed to be crossed. The first time had been like accidentally knocking a plate off of the table-watching it fall as if in slow motion, standing there helplessly as it shattered into a thousand sharp-edged fragments. And all you could say was, _well, there goes a plate_. After that initial encounter, Jimmy had made a point of laying as many groupies as possible at every tour stop, but being that close to Robert was a mark on his consciousness that no amount of women or booze could erase.

Jimmy's suddenly sober mood was a bit out of place; just a few hours ago he had been shifting excitedly from foot to foot as they listened to the playback of the experimental first take in which Bonzo drummed at the foot of the staircase. Bonzo had promptly balked at doing anything as serious as an actual take the first night of his arrival, especially with so much available alcohol screaming to be consumed. In their awkward, secretive orbits around each other, John Paul had noted that Jimmy and Robert were quickly becoming more careless about whatever was going on between them, while the bassist was now the one who found himself tiptoeing around, straining his ears, praying he wouldn't accidentally overhear something, or, worse, walk in on something. The picture he had pieced together in his head was baffling and a little unnerving, but there could be no other explanation. His chief concern was that this whatever-it-was might jeopardize the band as a whole.

"Is everything all right, Jimmy?" John Paul asked, not in the least expectant of anything resembling a straight answer.

Just then, a deafening rocket punctuated the latter half of the sentence, startling Jimmy so badly that he nearly jumped right off the bench. John Paul cocked his head back and watched the blinding flash of light materialize in the sky. The comet-tail streak arced through the blackness, eventually fading in a shower of disassembling sparks. "That was a good one," the bassist added.

All of this gave Jimmy a moment to formulate an answer, which in itself indicated that everything was not so fine and dandy.

"I'm not quite certain," Jimmy said finally. "I-well, I expect it'll have to sort itself out." He shrugged.

John Paul raised a casual eyebrow and went back to his paper.

"How do you do it?"

"Do... what?"

"Pick one person-one woman, I mean-and stay with her."

The bassist smiled a little. "People are different, aren't they? Not everyone is cut out for that sort of thing."

If it were anyone else saying this, Jimmy would feel slightly insulted at the (not exactly false) insinuation that the guitarist couldn't keep it in his pants to save his life. But this was Jonesy, the one Jimmy most appreciated for his maturity, a kind of anchor to remind Jimmy what responsibility looked like. "So shall I give up altogether?" he sighed.

"Perhaps you just haven't found the right person yet."

"How do you... how do you know if it's the right person?"

John Paul waited for the din of another firework to subside before venturing a reply. "It might have something to do with timing. And the future shouldn't be a concern, whilst at the same time you can't imagine a future without... the other person. A lot of it is luck, I think," he finished thoughtfully.

From somewhere beyond the scattering of trees, a voice bellowed something that sounded like, _"AIR RAID!"_

The next explosion was more like a large bomb going off, sputtering skyward in every color. John Paul thought he felt the ground shudder just a little bit. Over the apocalyptic tumult, he heard Jimmy scream in dismay. They had both been looking up at the sky and were now temporarily blind and deaf. John Paul grasped at the lamp to keep it from spilling. The bench lurched; this time, gravity had gotten the best of Jimmy. And still the chaos was not over. The screams that Jimmy had predicted now reached their ears, drawing closer until their owners appeared from the darkness. They were running, and Bonzo was howling like a mad banshee. Robert was making strange, strangled hiccupping noises.

_"Me hand, me bloody hand! I've lost me bloody fucking hand!"_

Jimmy scrambled to his feet. If he were a cat, he would be hissing and spitting with every hair on his body standing on end.

The other half of the band stumbled into the flickering ring of lantern light.

"What the hell is going on?" Jimmy demanded.

Bonzo waved what appeared to be a stump of an arm in the guitarist's face. At this moment, John Paul identified the odd noise Robert was making to be stifled laughter. The drummer let Jimmy wallow in dumbfounded fright a moment longer before letting go of the shirtsleeve he had pulled up over his hand; Bonzo was still very much in possession of both hands.

The spell broken, Bonzo and Robert bent double and burst out into delirious fits of laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Sun 22 Nov :)


	6. Chapter 6

"That was _not_ funny," Jimmy grumbled.

"Oh, but it was," said Bonzo. "I'd pay money to get a photograph of your face just now. I'd hang it above the mantelpiece-"

"You could have burnt down the whole forest!"

"-and look at it whenever I need cheering up."

" _Bloody fucking hell_ ," Jimmy swore, so vehemently that it jump-started the laugh-fest again.

"What was that?" John Paul asked.

"We wanted to get pissed already so we set off the remaining ones all in one go," Bonzo explained.

"Now we're going to have some backcountry copper banging the door in. You lot are just brilliant."

"It delights me to finally receive the recognition I deserve," said Bonzo.

"No problem," Jimmy said sourly.

"And now, onto the business already," the drummer said, directing himself to their place of lodging.

"I'll partake," John Paul said. Robert and Jimmy glanced at him with varying levels of surprise. He grinned and waved, tucking the newspaper under one arm and marching off to join Bonzo.

"Bugger. He _does_ know," Jimmy muttered under his breath.

"It's strangely liberating, in a way," said Robert.

"No, Robert. You have no idea how _not_ liberating this is."

"What is it now, Jimmy?" For a lack of direction, they found themselves drifting in Bonzo and Jonesy's wake, up to the back door of the house.

"What isn't it?"

"Oh, hush." Robert wrestled him into a bear hug. "Cheer up, old boy." He felt the vibration of muffled laughter against his shoulder.

Once inside, Jimmy eyed the various hallways and doors before choosing the corridor that led to the entranceway and stairs.

"I need to mull things over for a bit. Alone," he said. "Go on, Robert. Partake, if you like." He gestured toward the sound of the other men's voices.

"Are you trying to shake me off?" Robert said half-jokingly, half-worriedly. The blonde was genuinely confused as to what kind of mood Jimmy was in right now. He seemed to be scrolling between several options, unable to settle on just one.

"Tell Bonzo and Jonesy I've turned in, will you?" A sly glint flashed in the green eyes before Jimmy turned to leave.

"Oh," said Robert. "Shall I tell myself that as well?"

"Nah," Jimmy said.

There was no ceiling light in the bedroom that was Robert's. His skin prickled and his heart began to hammer itself senseless in his ribcage as he turned the doorknob and found a promising darkness waiting on the other side. He had purposely let Jimmy slink off to wherever Jimmy went to be alone, in the hopes that the guitarist was going to implement some plan that had been brewing in his head all afternoon and evening. It was frustratingly stupid, he thought, how they'd had all those nights to themselves at Bron-Yr-Aur and failed to do anything with the opportunity. Here they were again in relative isolation-the fact that they were not completely alone in this case just couldn't be helped. Robert wanted Jimmy as many times and in as many ways as possible, even if it meant ducking around corners and jumping at every footstep.

He squinted into the grainy darkness, tingling all over in apprehension and anticipation, and found the faint outline of the bedside table lamp. As he inched hand over hand along the edge of the bed, a wisp of motion flickered in the corner of his eye-the curtains on the window stirred as if by wind, but the window was firmly shut and the air was still. Before he could react, something at eye level blotted out the dim translucence of the cloth-covered glass, and the solid warmth of another body pressed against him.

"Jesus, Jimmy-"

A hand smothered the rest of his words behind his lips and he found himself being guided rather insistently away from the bed. The other hand gripped his waist and he was pushed first backward, then downward, legs nudging him into place and straddling him on the chair where he now sat. The faint, dying light from the window turned Jimmy's skin a muted shade of pearl. He pressed his forehead to Robert's, his head angled to leave plenty of space between their lips. The very intentional way Jimmy was positioned in Robert's lap sent the blonde's mind reeling and called his body to attention at record speed. He groaned against Jimmy's hand and ground his hips upward. Finally the guitarist relinquished his hand, letting his fingertips graze studiously over the mouth of his quarry.

"The first rule is that you can't speak," came the voice as smooth and cool as satin. "I'd rather not gag you because I want to hear you moan."

Robert nodded in immediate acquiescence. Already he could feel himself growing almost painfully hard, and wondered how long it would take before Jimmy would finally relieve him. Knowing Jimmy, it could be a while.

"The second rule is that you do as I tell you," Jimmy murmured. He tilted his head to the side and brushed the heavy strands of hair from Robert's neck. Without warning he tugged at the handful of golden curls, making Robert lean his head back and bare his throat. The slight twinge of pain was quickly replaced by a dizzying surge of pleasure as a pair of lips began to explore his neck while a set of fingers deftly examined his skin beneath his t-shirt. Soon both hands were roaming his bare torso and Jimmy's tongue was flicking against his neck, lips clamped tightly on his flesh. He drew back suddenly, and Robert was pleased to see that Jimmy was panting as hard as he was. "Take off your shirt," Jimmy ordered. Robert wriggled out of it as quickly as possible, eager to feel the brunette's touch on him again. Jimmy took the discarded shirt from his hands and threw it aside. In the dazed blink of an eye, he had darted downward, leaning to grab something from the floor next to the chair, and was back up again, forcing Robert's spine against the back of the chair with his chest, arms slipping around the blonde's shoulders. Robert felt the purposeful hands now around each of his wrists, bending his arms behind the chair's back, and in a matter of seconds Robert found himself bound tightly by a strip of cloth, tied with the same nonchalant skill that was conveyed when Jimmy played a riff or a solo. _Play me like that, Jimmy_ , Robert thought, catching the words before they could get out and break the first rule.

"The third rule is that you stay in this chair, and don't move, until I say otherwise," Jimmy hissed in his ear. Well, there wasn't a whole lot that Robert could do about that anyway, and he certainly wouldn't be trying to escape, that was for sure.

Then Jimmy was nipping at Robert's bottom lip, taking it into his mouth, sucking at it and pulling on it until it was swollen and throbbing, all while rubbing himself almost shyly against Robert's lap. "Oh," he moaned softly, his breath coming in gusts on Robert's face. "Oh, Robert, I can feel you..."

Robert replied back with a wordless, whimpering groan that plainly begged for release.

At last Jimmy began to slide down his body, lowering himself to kneel on the floor between Robert's legs. He took Robert's length into his mouth but kept the pressure slack. He was kneeling there motionless on the floor, and the only sensation he allowed Robert to feel was the hot, wet breath around his member. Jimmy let his teeth scrape lightly along the shaft as he withdrew it again. Robert was dying, and didn't the guitarist know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter on Wed 25 Nov :)


	7. Chapter 7

There was no point in trying to be dignified now. Robert let himself go, whimpering at every brief caress, moaning shamelessly like he did when they were recording songs or playing concerts, bold and lewd and always looking for a reaction from Jimmy. He got one now. After what seemed an endless interval of torture, the brunette relented and enveloped Robert ravenously in the tight heat of his mouth. Jimmy was green and a little clumsy-Robert was endlessly gratified that no matter what, he would be Jimmy's first-and hopefully Jimmy's only-male lover... A far corner of his brain, where logic had taken refuge from the assault of thoughtless lust, wondered nervously if he should even consider using that word. Any further musings on the topic were swept aside in a flood of passion as Jimmy continued to pleasure him. What he lacked in experience he made up for by being seemingly everywhere at once, using his hands, his teeth, his tongue, all with a manner of self-assurance that said, "This is mine, even if I don't quite know what to do with it yet."

"Relax," Jimmy breathed, taking his mouth away and looking up at poor powerless Robert, whose whole body was tense with the effort to restrain his movement. He continued massaging him idly in one hand.

_God, just hurry up..._

Jimmy cupped the other man's hips in each hand and finished the job with only his mouth. He administered a constant, overwhelming technique, his lips moving agonizingly tight up and down the shaft. Just one more good nudge over the edge and Robert would be there...

Somehow Jimmy mustered the ability to deep-throat Robert completely, biting gently at the base of Robert's cock, and he held his mouth down steadily while the blonde plummeted out of space and time, his body dissolving into weightless, humming particles of light. Slowly Robert regained awareness as the jumbled molecules of his body sorted themselves back into place. He noticed that he was sitting with his head thrown back completely, mouth open, slumped against the chair in temporary exhaustion. He felt the slim, denim-clad legs on either side of him, the tireless wandering fingers going over his face, combing through his hair.

"That was a bit loud," Jimmy said, brow furrowed in what could be concern or annoyance.

"Well, you probably should have taken that into consideration whilst you were in the middle of planning to give me a violently spectacular orgasm. Oh, hell, am I allowed to talk yet?"

The brunette cracked a wry smile and moved his lips to match Robert's, cradling the back of the golden-maned head in one hand and tenderly delving his tongue into the singer's mouth. It was a long, wet, involved kiss that lasted so long that Robert thought he might pass out.

"You can talk now," Jimmy said. He reached around and loosened the knots with the same bafflingly blind expertise as before, and Robert was free again. "That was rather remarkable."

"What was?" Robert wheezed as air rushed back into his lungs.

"You actually shutting up for so long."

"Jimmy."

"Hm?" Jimmy peered at him, puzzled at the sudden change of tone.

"You're wearing far too many clothes."

"Am I, now." He scooted back and stood in front of Robert, spectrally pale fingers floating straight up to the first button on his shirt.

"Keep going," Robert encouraged. He watched hungrily as the shirt slipped down Jimmy's shoulders and arms to join the indistinct darkness at floor level.

Jimmy obeyed, hands going to undo his belt buckle. The halting, careful way he moved, the unfathomable stare on Robert as he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of his pants and pulled them over the jagged, symmetrical swoops of his hip bones all the way down his legs, stepping delicately out of them, evoked an innocent, even virginal air about him. It had never occurred before to Robert that his own confidence actually gave him the upper hand in a situation where neither one really knew what he was doing.

"Lie down on the edge of the bed. Leave those on," he said softly.

Robert got up and went to stand over him, removing all remaining clothing from his own body, and then gently tugging off Jimmy's underwear.

"I need the light. I need to see you," he whispered. "Is that all right?"

Jimmy nodded and pulled himself completely onto the bed in order to lean over and reach the switch on the lamp. He opened the top drawer and fished something out. Robert had to remember to breathe as he covered Jimmy's body with his own. He felt the slender fingers close around his cock to coat it with lubricant and shivered in ecstasy.

He opened his mouth to ask if Jimmy was ready, but stopped short when he saw the look in the other man's eyes. Jimmy was gazing up at him, eyes half-shut and heavy with lust. Not hesitating a second longer, Robert braced one hand against the flat of the bed, his other arm supporting Jimmy's shoulders, bringing his face closer to Robert's. He watched every minute movement, every flutter of the eyelids and parting of the lips as he guided himself to Jimmy's opening and eased himself into the dizzying closeness. Jimmy wrapped his legs around Robert's waist, burying him to the hilt. They both gasped. Robert started out slowly, gingerly, as to avoid losing himself too early.

They struck up a steady tempo. Jimmy's head was thrown back, one hand clinging desperately to Robert's neck, the other twisting and tangling in the bedsheet. Robert licked and sucked at the tender skin of Jimmy's throat. The vibration of deep, low groans tickled against Robert's lips. He purposefully thrust without accelerating, wanting to prolong this as long as possible. Jimmy seemed in no immediate rush either, and they stayed locked in this changeless mode for an indeterminate length of time. Robert managed to focus his eyes on the beautiful face below him, the dark plumes of ringlets fanning out around his head like smoke, eyes closed and lips parted rapturously. He had the sudden urge to say something, but the words lodged in his throat. Instead he pistoned his hips more urgently, feeling a tipsy swooning sensation when he saw Jimmy's eyes fly open in wide surprise. The brunette whimpered and sought to entwine his fingers in Robert's hair. Every tug at Robert's hair urged him to go faster, and they were both moaning loudly now. Jimmy arched his back and shaped his lips into a silent scream, pulling viciously at the handful of golden locks as he climaxed. This sight alone was enough to finish it for Robert, and he felt himself emptying deep inside the other man, growling both in pain and pleasure.

The singer rubbed weakly at his smarting scalp as he withdrew and lowered himself to the bed. He opened his mouth to speak again, but all that came out was a sigh of wordless breath. Jimmy was motionless next to him, still sprawled and vulnerable, looking ravished and ravishing at the same time. Robert might have thought Jimmy was asleep if not for the quickened rise and fall of his chest.

"Be right back," he whispered, and went to grab a towel.

After he finished wiping Jimmy clean, he lay down beside him again and pressed his nose to the side of the other man's face.

"My, aren't you affectionate," Jimmy said sleepily.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?"

"I think I've got some concept of it, yeah."

Robert pulled Jimmy into his arms, breathing deeply the smell of him, and pressed his lips briefly to the guitarist's forehead.

The way Robert felt as he cuddled the prone body against his chest surpassed anything he thought he could possibly feel for another human being. They shared something with each other that could be had with no one else. The only thing that could ever come between them was their own selves, their conflicting personalities that lit up the world when combined, created a brilliance that was almost too hard to bear. And he knew that they could never really be together. Every second they had together now was terribly precious, more meaningful than any words could describe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter on Sun 29 Nov :)


	8. Chapter 8

Someone was mumbling in Robert's ear-that was the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed was that he was very warm, as if he were sleeping under a heated blanket. Well, the heated blanket was a bit bunched up and crammed against his right side-

"... one more..."

"What?"

"... ribbon... Echorecs... about that later..."

"Jimmy," Robert said. He cleared the leftover traces of sleep from his voice and turned to face where Jimmy's head should have been. "What are you-oh." Jimmy was talking in his sleep about production equipment again. "Sorry," he whispered. "Did I wake you?"

"Mmmmf," came a groan from somewhere underneath the mass of tousled brown curls, the voice's owner currently burrowed in a den of blankets.

"Morning," Robert replied.

Jimmy stirred and struggled under the blankets for a moment. During the night he seemed to have twisted himself into an impossible cocoon. Robert found the edge of the coverlet and tugged it back, revealing a slightly flushed face framed by the disheveled black tresses nestled in the pillow. He blinked up at his bedmate from beneath lush eyelashes and moistened his lips. All of his movements and facial expressions might have been incidental and subconscious, but to Robert they seemed deliberately, gracefully provocative.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Jimmy asked.

"I may not be able to let you out of bed," Robert murmured.

Their eyes locked and Robert felt hopelessly lost in the unfathomable green stare. He would give anything to know Jimmy's thoughts-he knew the man better than anyone else, and still Jimmy could shut him out at will, as if they were strangers.

"See, that's a bit impractical, Robert," Jimmy said, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his temptingly full lips.

"I'll just have to explain to Jonesy and Bonzo that I'll be in here shagging you for the duration of our stay." Smooth, cold skin brushed against his shin under the blankets and he winced. "Ack-your feet are like ice!" He grimaced as Jimmy continued to rub at Robert's leg with his foot. The guitarist laughed softly at the look on Robert's face. "Leave off, you scoundrel. Here." He moved his legs forward and trapped Jimmy's legs between them. "Warm up."

"My hands are a bit cold too," Jimmy said slyly. Robert inhaled sharply at the feeling of two hands suddenly wrapped around the length of his cock. The brunette just kept them there in a kind of possessive hold, never moving his eyes from Robert's face. "Mmmm," he purred. "That's better."

Blood pounded in Robert's skull and he felt himself grow within the grasp of the cool, dry hands. He thrust himself through the unmoving hold. Jimmy's eyelids fluttered and he kept his hands steady as Robert moved in and out of the vicegrip. Through his delirium it occurred to him that this situation was yet another opportunity for Jimmy to pull one of his manipulative tricks.

As if reading the singer's mind, the other man's hands flitted away, leaving Robert marooned on the unreachable edge of satisfaction. He squirmed and aimed a lust-filled, accusatory glare at Jimmy. " _You little tease!_ " Robert gasped. He felt desperately around for the hands that had just left his skin and so cruelly taken the pleasure with them. A fumbling, groping struggle ensued; Jimmy playing keep-away with his hands wedged beneath him while wriggling to get free from the unrelenting clamp around his legs, Robert wrestling him to no avail. "You don't do this to anyone else," he panted, a gleeful tone subverting his irritation. Robert was atop Jimmy now, making sure the minx could feel the singer's untended hardness pressing down against his stomach. Jimmy still smugly hid his hands behind his back, twisting and turning to evade each attempt to capture them.

The veiled emerald eyes sparkled playfully. "No one is as much fun to toy with as you are," he said.

"Well, I've got news for you, love-" Robert's speech was interrupted in a furious fit of grappling as he tried to wrench Jimmy's arms out from under him. "We're not going anywhere until you've finished toying with what you've started." He leaned down and gave a reprimand in the form of a sharp nip to Jimmy's neck. This elicited a whimper from the brunette. A suspiciously firm, smooth warmth tickled at Robert's inner thigh. "What have we here?" he said, reaching down to find Jimmy's arousal.

"My body betrays me," Jimmy said with a droll smirk. Robert squeezed the girth of Jimmy's shaft and rubbed his thumb over the delicate head.

"Your body knows what's best for you," Robert said.

"Sometimes I doubt that," replied the other man, closing his eyes and giving a shuddering sigh as Robert, unable to resist, began to pleasure him.

"Oh, do me a favor," Robert said. He rolled his eyes. "You'll take anything that comes your way."

Jimmy said nothing. He looked up, puzzled at the subtle air of aggression in Robert's voice and touch. The hand job was getting almost grimly intense, Robert jerking him fast, hard and rough and drinking in hungrily the involuntary contortions on the guitarist's face. "Say it," he burst out abruptly, surprised at the callousness in his speech. "Say you want it, you like it, you fucking liar, just _say it_."

"Robert," Jimmy said warily. He put a hand on Robert's arm and fought to string a sentence together. "Robert... please..."

The plaintive, defenseless note in Jimmy's voice halted Robert, and a wave of guilt crashed brutally over him. He backed off, his throat aching as he retreated to the other side of the bed. They both lay without moving, both physically unsatisfied, but this need was quickly being usurped by a whirlwind of battering emotions.

"I'm sorry," Robert whispered hoarsely, not daring to look at the other man. "God, I don't know what happened, I just... I didn't mean to scare you, I..."

"You didn't scare me," Jimmy said, though his eyes held a different message. Strangely, he looked slightly guilty.

Out of nowhere, Robert had an overwhelming understanding of why all the girls of the world had been crying over boys since the beginning of human memory. Boys were trouble.

"This is all a mistake," Jimmy said softly. The words quavered as if waiting for confirmation from Robert.

Robert's stomach lurched painfully. "You think so?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter on Wed 2 Dec :)


	9. Chapter 9

"How can things go back to normal after this?"

" _After_ this?" Robert sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. "There is no ‘after this.' All the while I've been wanting you, ever since I saw your smarmy face on the train platform, and as long as we're in the same bloody band, I'm going to keep wanting you."

"Can't we just not talk about it?" Jimmy lamented into his hands, rubbing his face tiredly.

"It's a bit late for fuck and run, don't you think?"

"What's the time?" Jimmy said. This self-made diversion seemed to soothe him somewhat. Robert watched him hoist himself up and scan the room for a clock. A little alarm clock ticked quietly on top of the chest of drawers across the room, its face informing them that it was, in fact, quite early, even by Jimmy standards.

"Nobody's going to be up for a while yet," said Robert.

Jimmy grunted in assent and flopped back against the headboard, staring listlessly at the ceiling. Robert was hesitant to pick up the dropped threads of the conversation and waited a minute to see if Jimmy might dare to do it.

"How's this going to work?" he mumbled, eyes straight ahead.

"How about you don't overthink it so much?"

The brunette turned to give him an incredulous look. "Do you suggest that I take this all in stride, then? It's of no consequence that we're-that I'm all of a sudden sleeping with men-"

"As far as I know, you've only slept with me. Unless there's something you've not been telling me."

"Yes, but... But Robert, you're my _best mate_ ," he said, the sentence fading into a trepid whisper as he lowered his head in shame.

"Er, well, it can happen like that," Robert said, shrugging.

"How can you be so laissez-faire about it? Does it not strike you as a bit _queer_ -" He clamped his mouth shut at the unintended double meaning and his cheeks flamed in abashment. Robert began to giggle helplessly at the absurdity of it all, the inevitable, momentous utterance of the word, accidental and completely apropos.

"Yeah, it does come off a bit queer," the singer agreed. "But honestly, if I were forced to have sexual relations with a person of my own gender, I would choose you straightaway."

"God," Jimmy said, shaking his head a little. "So that's how you look at it."

"And you? How would you choose?"

"This scenario is so bizarre, I can't hardly-"

Robert spied the increasing discomfort on Jimmy's face and read through it immediately. "Oh, you've thought about it, I'm sure. Look at you, you're as red as a beet."

Touching the back of his hand to one cheek, Jimmy found this observation to be true. He grimaced.

"Do you or do you not like sex with men?" Robert asked pointedly.

The guitarist stared at him wide-eyed. It took him a second to recover from this, a sort of conversational brick lobbed through a glass window in his carefully organized mind. "I..." Jimmy trailed off. "You first."

"I asked first."

"Robert," Jimmy said sternly.

Robert laughed in spite of himself. "All right. I like girls. And I like Jimmy Page."

"I am a man," Jimmy said in a voice that was too sharp-edged to be deadpan.

"Yeah, I noticed," Robert replied cheerily.

"So how could that be? Unless I... remind you of a bird or something."

"I reckon not everything is as tidy as you'd like it to be."

"But I _like_ tidy," he muttered.

"Answer the question, Jimmy."

"I don't-I don't not like it."

"You don't not like it," Robert repeated, smirking.

"Fine. Fine! I wish I didn't, but I do-fucking hell, I do. There, are you happy?" Jimmy snapped.

"Not if you aren't," Robert said solemnly.

Jimmy wound a curl around his finger, deep in thought. The sun was anticipating its morning appearance, first crouching on the windowsill, then tracking its way across the floor as the minutes went by. Robert watched the progress of the light in such fascination that he nearly forgot about all the trouble that was lounging in the form of a close friend not four feet to his right. Just as the first finger of sunlight climbed the bed to rest against the side of his hand, a voice tugged at his attention.

"There's no going back, is there," Jimmy said.

"Wherever ‘back' is, it's been smashed to smithereens by now."

Sighing and squaring his shoulders, Jimmy leveled his eyes straight at Robert. "So what if you're right. Well, I can't let this-this... whatever it is... get in the way of the band. I didn't ask for a bloody soap opera-"

"Oh, don't you _dare_ try to put this all on me, Page."

Jimmy inclined his head so that his hair shielded his face. His shoulders were set in a tense line and he sat hunched over as if he were under attack. All Robert wanted to do was take the other man in his arms and comfort him, but Jimmy was about as cuddly as a porcupine. An utterly irresistible porcupine.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to say it," Jimmy said. "I can't. I won't."

"Fine, then. But I know you feel it too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Sun Dec :)


	10. Chapter 10

A empty, tired kind of closure filled Robert's chest as he got out of bed and retrieved some necessary articles of clothing. He gathered his things and went to take a long, preoccupied shower. The endless monotony of the water thrumming on his head and body had a numbing, calming effect, and he imagined all of his concerns being drained from him until he was clean again. This meditative reverie was soon interrupted when he sensed the presence of another person nearby. Very nearby. He flinched and swore at the sight of Jimmy's head poking around the shower curtain like the nosiest, peskiest next-door neighbor on the planet. "Whatever happened to knocking?" he said, attempting to play it cool.

"All right." Jimmy raised a fist and politely rapped on the wall. "May I come in?" he said slyly.

"The more, the merrier," Robert said. In all truth, this turn of events was making it very difficult to be casual.

"I couldn't let you use up all the hot water," he said by way of explanation as he stepped in, quite naked, behind the curtain. Robert was unsure if Jimmy was coming on to him or if this was just business as usual, carry on, nothing to see here. Without further ado, Jimmy reached to open the shampoo bottle, squeeze some of it into an upturned palm, and begin lathering his long, tangled curls. Robert tried to finish his own routine but it was just a little distracting; he ended up washing his hair three times in a row before he realized what he was doing.

"May I help?" Jimmy was tantalizingly near again, his focus shifting abruptly to his singer. They stood face to face under the faucet, and Robert watched in increasingly hazy bliss how each speeding droplet of water slowed its pace to travel in downward trails over the smooth porcelain skin, soaked into the head of dark hair and weighed down the strands, plastering them against his neck and forehead and shoulders. He smiled and reached up to bury his fingers in Robert's hair, massaging the younger man's scalp as he worked the soap in and then combed it out again. A stray bead of water found its way onto Jimmy's face, starting down his cheek like a tear and then sliding over his lips. Robert leaned in and kissed it away, and then they were at each other like animals again, rubbing the soaked skin of their bodies together, Jimmy's hands firmly lodged in Robert's mane, lips crashing breathlessly together and apart and together again as the barrage of water continued from above.

And then a sound at the door to remind them that knocking was alive and well, and so was at least one of the other occupants of the house-the terrifying noise shattered their rapture and drew them together in a startled huddle. "Oi, Percy, you in there?" called Bonzo's voice, distorted by the noise of the shower and the barrier of the door.

Robert gritted his teeth. "Yeah, mate, what is it?"

"Seems like we're in for fair weather today," Bonzo was saying. "How's about we see if we can distract Pagey from getting anything done, at least for another day?"

Jimmy was extracting himself from Robert's arms, his intentions quickly made known-his hands were on Robert's cock again and he grinned wolfishly at the shocked, dopey daze on the other man's face. He began to finish what he had started, all while staring at Robert's face and silently daring him to let out a single noise. Jimmy raised the stakes by inserting two fingers of his other hand into Robert's opening, synchronizing his movements so skillfully that the singer thought his knees might give way. "Yeah," the singer managed to respond in a strangled voice to the unassuming drummer on the other side of the door. Robert mouthed the words _fuck you_ before closing his eyes and succumbing to the mounting feeling of pleasure overtaking his body. "I'll do my best to keep him busy," he choked out. Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows at him.

"Splendid," Bonzo's voice intoned. "Where's he gotten to, anyway?"

For the first time in his life, Robert came without uttering a single sound. Instead he found himself sinking his teeth into Jimmy's shoulder, and steadied himself against the guitarist's body.

"N-not sure," Robert gasped. "Maybe he's gone for a walk. Communing with nature and all that, you know how he is."

"Right. Jonesy says to tell you there's omelettes."

The following silence indicated that Bonzo had wandered off again. Robert sighed in relief. "Splendid my arse," he growled against Jimmy's neck. He was half-grinning anyway. "You shameless bastard."

"Oh, but didn't I do as you said?" Jimmy baited.

"So much for not wanting to be found out. Now how in hell are we going to get out of here?"

"Stealthily."

The blonde grabbed a towel and wrapped himself in it as he exited the shower, handing one to Jimmy as well. Jimmy idly held the towel around his waist, suddenly distracted by something on his neck.

"It seems you've left a mark," he said, holding up a blood-tinged fingertip and pointed to the place Robert had bitten him while in the throes of passion. He was smiling.

"That wasn't intentional, but"-Robert cast him a "you're beyond strange" look and slipped a bathrobe around his shoulders-"whatever tickles your fancy."  
Unfortunately for Bonzo, Jimmy would not be deterred another day from his goals. The first song they tackled was the one that had been partly responsible for this move to the country in the first place-"When the Levee Breaks."

The evasive sound that Jimmy had been fussing over, whose absence had cut short so many would-be demos, was finally here at Headley Grange. They were spread out, Bonzo in the entryway, the guitarists in one of the larger rooms and Robert put in his own corner; yet they were strung together by the sounds that came through their headphones. The eerie oneness that had appeared not ten minutes into the band's first rehearsal, the feeling of transcending something, was here again.

Robert threw his head back to add the usual wordless, improvisational groans and screams; these embellishments to the lyrics came to him as second nature, a conveyance of the powerful lust and wailing grief in all of their songs. But it was different this time, a wholly different sort of grief, bigger than the story of being two-timed or heartbroken over and over-these songs about women that made up the majority of the band's repertoire were full of genuine feeling, yes, but also with a kind of self-conscious slant borne of singing them out of context, so to speak. None of them had been mistreated so horribly and so constantly as the contents of their songs would suggest. In a sense it was exaggeration. This time, however, he felt no difficulty conjuring up the blues, the blues he had listened to and mimicked for many years, singing about heartless women because that's what the original bluesmen sang about. This was different because he felt himself as the primary source of the feeling conveyed in the song like he never had before. Given, it was originally written and recorded by a woman blues singer in the 1920s South, its lyrical content about levees and floods and the harrowing life of a poor laborer. But he felt it inside of him, the loneliness and bewilderment and despair, and a dam burst within him as the noises ripped from his throat, melodic and jarring. The verse ended and the music continued, and Robert found himself bent double, trying to control himself. He looked up and saw Jimmy, completely submerged in his guitar playing and unaware of Robert's strange behavior, eyes closed and mouth open in a trance.

The singer managed to recollect himself just before John Paul glanced over his shoulder. Robert gave a small smile and a thumbs up, and the bassist nodded minutely and went back to his playing. Miraculously the spell remained unbroken and they made it through to the end without any slip-ups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Wed 9 Dec :)


	11. Chapter 11

When the final take ended, Robert felt like sinking to the floor. He compromised by leaning back against the wall, listening detachedly as Jimmy began to prattle on about overdubs and blues harp. The chatter became a duet with Bonzo shouting something about a nearby pub.

"I'm taking this one out for a bit of fun," he announced. Jimmy trailed behind him like an uncharacteristically placid prisoner of war. "Perce, you in?"

Robert traded looks with first Jimmy, then John Paul, whose intentions were predictably clear.

"Thanks, but I'm still reeling in the wake of last night's debauchery," said John Paul. "Allow me a night to recover."

"Is all this rustic togetherness making you go soft?"

John Paul waved a hand dismissively at him. "You brought the healing herbs, though, didn't you?"

"I would _never_ leave those behind," Bonzo said, mock-horrified. "The stash is in the top drawer of my bureau. Save some for me."

"Will do."

"Until later, dear grannies," Bonzo crowed at them. The door slammed shut and the building was thrown into a discomforting quiet in its wake, the air suddenly thin and perplexed at the absence of booming sound waves.

"Are you sure you want to have some? I mean, I don't give a damn but Jimmy might take issue, seeing as we're recording and all-"

"I've already screamed myself sufficiently hoarse today," Robert said, dismissing the concern with a shake of his head. "Pass it this way, if you please."

He took a long, satisfied drag on the joint, surveying the tranquil scene in the slant of low afternoon light. Jonesy had dug up a thick, slightly moth-eaten blanket from somewhere and was spreading it on the grass for a kind of cannabis picnic.

"It seems as if it's been fucking forever since the last time I've done this," he sighed, lowering himself onto the soft cushion of the earth. They lounged in opposite directions with their heads lined up next to one another's, trading puffs on the rolled joint and staring peacefully up at the tree-framed stretch of sky.

"I didn't used to like grass," John Paul said. "I just thought it was boring. Then I realized I'd been smoking the wrong kind."

"Blast it," Robert said in great alarm. "Has Bonzo dusted this with something?" He sat up and held the stick at arm's length.

John Paul giggled. "No, dear, it's got nothing dodgy in it. You can relax. As I was saying, I was smoking the wrong kind-"

"The right kind being?"

"You know, the zippier kind. Can you imagine me baked on the calming stuff?"

"I'm certain you'd be delightful in any case."

The conversation grew increasingly vapid and arcane as the joint wore down to a burnt-out stub. By this time, the two of them were rolling around and giggling haplessly with every breath.

"Jonesy, I'm absolutely starved," Robert declared. "Good heavens, it's loud outside - bright, I mean. The sun is bright."

"You know how in the movies the soldiers sort of drag themselves across the ground by their arms? I've always wanted to try that," said John Paul.

"Race you to the back door!"

Ten minutes later they were wheezing and laughing uncontrollably in a sorry, grass-stained heap by the door.

"It's lucky we're musicians," Robert gasped. "We'd make absolutely awful soldiers."

"I think I pulled something. Jesus." John Paul winced and clutched his side.

Though considerably battered from their foray into military maneuvers, they managed to get inside the house and to the snack cupboard. This is where Jimmy and Bonzo found them well after sundown-sitting on the kitchen floor amid a sea of crumpled snack bags, fiercely debating the merits of different characters from _Lord of the Rings_.

"What have you sods been at?" Bonzo inquired.

"We've been having a lovely time, thanks," John Paul replied.

A loud hiccup came from the hallway. Jimmy appeared at the drummer's shoulder, squinting down at them as if his mind might be playing tricks on him.

"Dear God, we're such professionals, aren't we?" Robert chortled.

"This professional needs to be wheeled to bed on a stretcher," Bonzo said, nodding at Jimmy. "He was drinking like some bint broke his heart. Just when I begin to think we've had a successful day..." He shrugged. He seemed to be offering Jimmy up to the first taker, as if it were all fine and well to hand over custody of a thoroughly cabbaged man to one of his equally bombed comrades.

"Oh, Jimmy," John Paul sighed.

The upside of being toasted versus loaded was that you had a bit more basic motor control. Robert helped the waifish alcohol victim up to the second floor and helped him into bed.

"Did you plan it how-" Jimmy wrinkled his nose as he searched for the right words. "How you wailed like that, after the first bridge. That was _ousstanding_ ," he slurred.

"Thanks," said Robert, unlacing the other man's shoes and slipping them off. "Yeah, no, not really. I was just, you know, feeling it."

"I felt it," said Jimmy, yawning. He smiled blearily up at his caretaker. "It's going to be good. I know it is."

Robert's lips smiled but there was a twist of sadness to the expression. "What's going to be good?"

A hand reached out and found his, clinging to it tightly. "Tomorrow," he said absentmindedly.

"I really wish you weren't so drunk," Robert said, more to himself than to Jimmy. His own buzz was wearing off and all of the dulled corners of the world were coming back into sharp, painful focus.

"I won't be drunk tomorrow," Jimmy said brightly.

"Mkay."

"You'll see."

"Good night."

The hand was latched firmly to his wrist, stopping his progress when he tried to get up from the bed. "Where're you going?"

"I don't know," Robert said. Where was he going? The question was suddenly too terrifying to address. "See you in the morning."

He left Jimmy to sleep it off, and as he went back to his own room he wondered if he should have just said something, seeing as Jimmy wouldn't even remember it tomorrow anyhow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter on Sun 13 :)


	12. Chapter 12

The way it first happened was more or less an accident-the first time they slept together, in a hotel in Sydney, halfway around the world from home, while touring to promote _Led Zeppelin III_. It was a fluke, an abrupt departure from the way they had been doing things for the past six months or so. The closest they allowed themselves to get to each other was to have a girl between them. This was the necessary component. And by some unknown turn of events, that component was absent on the warm spring night in Sydney, the night that really started it all. But going back in time, if Robert were to trace this convoluted affair, he would put a bright red marker on the first night they shared a groupie, the previous fall in California.

Robert knew that Jimmy preferred to have his groupies to himself, whether the guitarist was shutting himself into his room with one girl, two girls, however many he wanted. There was a limit to how many girls at once any of them could handle, but then, being loaded always has a way of distorting the realm of possibility. Bonzo insisted that he had taken care of the most groupies at one time, though he wouldn't divulge how many; when you're that drunk it can be difficult to count properly anyhow. On a steadily increasing number of wildly drunken occasions, Jimmy let Robert share a girl with him; the first time had been the result of culminating insanity as the band progressed westward on the fall ‘69 North American tour. It seemed like things would start off innocently enough, or at least, as innocently as the usual rock-god debauchery can be, and get more and more insane until by the time they reached California, it was an utter free-for-all.

It was after the first of a three-night gig at the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco, in the City by the Bay that had been a beacon of acid-fueled hippie culture for the greater part of the last decade. Woodstock had come and gone more than a month ago, and the Sixties were on their way out, literally and figuratively; the flowers wilting, the candles in Candlestick park burning down to blackened stubs, the sunny, trippy West-coast rock giving way to an unstoppable storm of heavier, harder rock heralded by Led Zeppelin themselves. So they came to partake of the tail end of this glorious madness even as their own musical endeavors were pronouncedly putting it out of business.

None of the girls Cole had brought backstage after the show had particularly piqued Robert's interest; they were all drunk and loudmouthed and caked with makeup. Underneath the waxy red lips and the smudged raccoon eyes they were probably very beautiful, but somehow Robert expected better from California. Apparently Jimmy did too: he glided past the row of hopeful groupies all lined up for inspection and barely gave a backward glance. This deflated the mood backstage somewhat. Robert gently pried a girl's crimson-clawed hand off of his upper arm and waltzed out after his guitarist.

"I miss how they used to be," Jimmy said quietly as Robert arrived at his side. They took in the salt-tinged night air, only a little less smoky than the atmosphere inside the Ballroom, standing outside the back door and pondering which direction to take.

"Maybe there are still some of them around," said Robert. "Just not here."

Jimmy turned to him, and the soft, shadowy lamplight illuminated a familiar expression tugging at the delicate features of his face. "Do you fancy a drink?"

"I do fancy a drink. And perhaps a bite to eat."

"We could grab a bite, yes, and split something, perhaps?"

Robert raised an eyebrow. He felt a little tipsy already, the way Jimmy was looking at him. "What are you in the mood for? Something sweet?"

The brunette reached up and rolled a golden corkscrew of hair between his thumb and first finger. "I've already got something sweet."

"And by that logic, we've already got something bitter as well," Robert said, lifting a handful of the ink-black hair like watered silk and holding it in his palm as if inspecting it. On tour they were constantly surrounded by smoke from cigarettes and other burning substances, and the smell of it mixed into Jimmy's curls was like incense to Robert. They were both a little buzzed from standing near a group of roadies passing a blunt around backstage during Bonzo's drum solo. Jimmy would like to consider himself dark and mysterious, Robert mused, but to the singer, Jimmy was a delicate thing who couldn't harm a fly, let alone punch anyone or smash his guitar onstage. There was nothing bitter about him, except for maybe those occasional sour interactions that left an unsatisfied taste of bitter disappointment in Robert's mouth. "It's been quite a while since I've had something... spicy."

"I concur," Jimmy said.

They struck gold-or rather, red-at the hotel bar, when a moon-eyed girl with a cloud of hair the color of a ripe tomato brought them their first glasses of liquid courage and offered them, in a breathy, baby-doll voice, "something extra" with their drinks. Robert tried to exchange a sideways glance with his companion to discern whether Jimmy found this girl as weird as Robert did, but the guitarist seemed completely enthralled. After a few more minutes of interaction it seemed that the voice she used really was how she talked and not some strange affect. She also seemed incapable of blinking, her eyes permanently rounded in a cartoonishly endearing way. The "something extra" did not, in fact, turn out to be an offer for sex, but instead, some good old-fashioned LSD, which was politely declined. This girl made no reaction when they introduced themselves and didn't seem to recognize them at all, but then again, she seemed to be higher than a kite and it was clear that there would be no trouble getting something else extra from her. By the time Robert had drained his third glass, his feelings of jealously were spiking at every suggestive glance traded between Jimmy and the barmaid. The girl was prattling on about crystals and synchronized energies and the powers of different elements, barely letting Jimmy get a pickup line in edgewise.

"Ooh, I can see your auras," she was saying, leaning on the bar and gazing at the two of them rapturously. Robert got the feeling that it wasn't their manly charms that were affecting her-most likely the massive amounts of chemicals in her system. "They're so bright, especially where your bodies are the closest."

"Oh, really?" said Robert. "What colors are they?"

"Yours is gold," she said reverently. "And yours is violet, Jimmy. Touch your hands together, would you?"

Robert grabbed Jimmy's hand before he could protest and looked expectantly at the girl. She looked as if she might faint. "Your souls," she said in hushed tones, clutching a hand to her chest. "They light up when you touch. The light and the dark-there is such power, oh my Goddess. It's-they're begging to be released, to be united. Have you never done it before?"

Jimmy was staring very hard as if squinting would help him see what she was talking about. He didn't appear to register the girl's words. A neon bulb was flashing hysterically in Robert's brain. "Done what before?" he asked. Jimmy was holding very tightly to his hand now as he searched through his alcoholic stupor for the nonexistent auras, his grip almost painful, but Robert hoped the touch would never end.

"Why, united your energies, of course," she said. "It could harm you both if you do it incorrectly-"

In his shock, Robert inhaled a mouthful of beer and spent the next half-minute hacking liquid out of his lungs. The whole time, the girl went on obliviously-Robert could drop dead right in front of her and she probably wouldn't notice-and Jimmy continued to hang on to her every word, though he did have enough of his wits about him to halfheartedly smack Robert on the back a few times. "-so you should use a medium, at least the first few times. Oh! I'd be happy to do it for you!"

"Have you had a lot of experience at this, ah, being a medium?" Jimmy asked, pulling up another full glass and taking a huge swig.

"Plenty," she said very solemnly. "Though I've never acted as a channel between two such powerful sources before, I'm certain I could handle it. It would be an honor. Robert, can I get you something else to drink?"

The blonde managed a pained nod. He seized a napkin and dabbed at his mouth, then inhaled deeply the delicious, oxygen-laced smoke of the bar again. The barmaid had gone off to procure him a refill. Jimmy was regarding him with an impenetrable expression. "What do you think?" he said in a low voice.

"I think"-Robert gave one last good cough to clear his ravaged airway-"she's trying to offer us a three-way."

"Sounds like fun," Jimmy said mildly. His murky green gaze, though a bit unfocused, was sparkling deviously right at Robert.

"She's one hundred and ten percent howling mad, you know that, right?"

"Marvelous," Jimmy slurred, which wasn't really an answer at all. Robert shrugged. His stomach was doing backflips and he desperately hoped he hadn't imbibed more liquor than he could handle. The night was just getting interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter on Wed 16 Dec :)


	13. Chapter 13

"Well, er, all right. Which... my room or yours?" he muttered to Jimmy.

At this moment a pack of bleach-blonde groupies was traveling past their barstools. One of them shot Robert a peculiar look. He smiled back pleasantly, and she promptly melted, batting her eyelashes and wallowing on the spot a bit until one of her friends had to grab her and drag her away.

"I don't give a damn. Mine," Jimmy said, wavering a little on his stool. Robert barred his arm behind the other man's shoulder blades to steady him.

"I hope she doesn't kill us in our sleep or something," Robert commented.

"I'm off in fifteen minutes," came the airy voice right in his ear. He winced and watched bemusedly as a full glass of amber liquid came sliding beneath his nose.

Jimmy passed the girl his room number. Barely a second after she had floated off again, Richard Cole was there, breathing his stale beer breath down their necks. "Who was _that_?" he demanded, sounding more than a little tipsy.

The guitarist glanced at Robert questioningly. "What was her name..."

"Cassandra?" Robert truthfully had no memory of it.

"No, wasn't it Cassiopeia, something more celestial-oh, bollocks, was it Celeste?"

"Cinnamon. Sassafras. Celery. No bloody clue," Robert said, grinning.

Cole rolled his eyes. "Do you want her out of your room after you're finished with her? ‘Cos I can take care of that-"

"I'm sure you can," muttered Robert.

"Yes, that will be fine," Jimmy said distractedly. "Bear in mind she'll likely be exhausted by the time you get to her, though."

"Overestimating your own prowess again, Page?"

"No," Jimmy said in genuine dismay. "No, Cole, my dear man, Robert and I are sharing her."

"She's a crazy hippie," Robert put in. "She's going to channel our energies."

"I think channel your dicks is what you mean," Cole said.

"Yes, Richard, that's exactly it. Here, have a drink, you clever thing," Robert said dryly. He stuffed the glass, still full, into the tour manager's hand. This served as enough of a distraction for Robert to drag Jimmy away from the bar, leaving Cole staring foggily down into the drink that had just magically materialized in his grasp.

They said very little to each other in the elevator and sat in silence in Jimmy's room as they waited for their woozy, flame-haired medium to appear. The guitarist retreated to the balcony and sat with his boots propped up on the railing, a lit cigarette hanging idly from his lips. He was elegantly wasted, silhouetted against the glowing orange sunset. Robert had a fleeting image of Jimmy with a flower in his hair, staring at him in the same dreamy way the barmaid had been doing.

A soft knock at the door prodded them both to action. In a matter of seconds the knob was turned, the girl was inside, wearing a shimmering, translucent sarong that she shrugged off immediately; it sank feather-soft to the floor and she stood naked before them, her hair glowing like the sky outside as it cascaded in spirals down her back and chest. All of the alcohol in Robert's bloodstream went up in flames and he was upon the girl at once. As soon as he sensed Jimmy on the other side, his body went into autopilot-all he could think about was the other man, and the girl was just simply a medium, something between them, the last acceptable barrier, a girl, just an excuse, a ruse, oh, but he _liked_ girls, he _loved_ them, didn't he? They both did, didn't they? They eventually found themselves lying on the bed, the girl writhing and screaming, but it was almost just background noise, static against the loud, beautiful sound of Jimmy's pants and groans. Their heads lay at the same level, eyes and faces so close, tacitly coordinating their thrusts, and Robert could almost pretend that it was just the two of them-he moaned in response to each of Jimmy's vocalizations, imagined that the warmth on his skin was Jimmy's, not the girl's, imagined that Jimmy was moaning back, moaning for him. He threw his head back, eyes wide, snarling that he was about to come. He was careening wildly through space and time; their eyes brushed accidentally, and like a deadly sideswipe it sent Robert crashing over the edge, spinning out of his body and out of control. He screamed helplessly, and underneath his shrill cry of pleasure he heard a lower noise, a voicing in harmony with his own, and their eyes locked, gazes seeming to spill over into each other's vision as they spilled themselves dry. The magic decelerated and then flatlined into a stagnant, breathless dream, a sweaty tangle of bare bodies adrift in the darkness. Robert blinked his eyelids a few times to see if he was in full control of his body yet, and met Jimmy's eyes again, a startling encounter, as if he had turned a corner and run into the most alarming, familiar, dazzling stranger. Those eyes held such a depth, such a measure of peaceful intimacy that when Robert sensed the butterfly-subtle touch of fingertips against his cheek, it felt almost redundant, like the fingers were already his own. Jimmy's fingers fluttered away again and Robert wondered if he had just imagined it.

The minutes passed like a thick fog around them, and Robert was vaguely aware of someone else coming into the room, of the warmth and weight next to him being removed, the sounds of footsteps and movement and the door opening and shutting, and then silence again. His tired body sank into sleep before he had time to register anything else, and his dreams were a strange haze of green smoke curling in his nostrils and bright, purple-black feathers tickling his skin.

The next morning, even before his eyes opened, even before his senses fully assimilated the feeling of body heat and the sound of sleepy breathing in his ear, he knew that the space between them was empty; there was no space anymore. During the night Jimmy had rolled into him and they had slept with their bodies pressed together, fitted as perfectly as two puzzle pieces.

He brushed his lips against the guitarist's forehead before reluctantly shifting himself away. He lay, feeling the newly created space between them with a hollow, wistful ache, staring at the ceiling and knowing that they could never go back, not from this, not ever again. He had known all along, ever since their eyes first met on the platform at the London train station, their shoulders first brushed together as they rode in the back of a taxicab through the city streets, their gazes touching shyly at the first audition, then stronger, more direct at the first practice session-every interaction, every encounter pushing them closer and closer until there was no space left and they would inevitably, terrifyingly, magnificently collide at last.

This procedure, which allowed them to share a bed and a girl and in a way, each other, repeated itself periodically over the coming months, and Robert both dreaded it and needed it desperately. Then they prepared to record their third album, creating a drought that was mitigated only by the fact that while the two of them were bunking at Bron-Yr-Aur, Jimmy was with Robert and no one else, if not with him in the way Robert would prefer. It was better than nothing, but it would never do.

When they went back on tour again, an inexplicably brilliant chain of events led to one fateful night in a hotel room on the Australian leg of the circuit in which the third party who had been designated as the latest female go-between failed to appear. The room was well stocked with all manner of vodka and whiskey, and Jimmy seemed to be determined to singlehandedly work his way through the liquor cabinet to while away the hours. Every endless rotation of the clock hands gave rise to a mounting anticipation that felt like a combination of a pent-up laugh and an upset stomach. Robert took to pacing the balcony in an attempt to resist doing anything rash. Where was the girl? Had she lost her way? Had Cole or Bonzo somehow intercepted her?

His muddled, slapdash thought process was interrupted by a sudden presence in the balcony doorway. He stopped and saw Jimmy standing there, bracing himself drunkenly against the doorframe with one hand, lifting his other hand to beckon silently.

"Wh-What is it?" Robert found himself stammering and bit his lip in irritation. He ceased his restless pacing and stood there facing his friend.

"Why don't you come in?" Jimmy said. His voice was dark and tempting, roughened and hoarse from the cigarettes and alcohol.

_Why don't I?_

"Is something the matter?"

Robert sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him mutely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Sun 20 Dec :)


	14. Chapter 14

"I've been wondering," Jimmy continued, stalking around the bed until he stood before the singer, looking down at him with a unintentionally seductive, heavy-lidded gaze. "When we're onstage, why do you do the things you do?"

"What do you mean?" Robert asked innocently. His heartbeat was thudding dangerously and spreading all kinds of hot, wicked pulses throughout his body.

"You _know_ , Robert," Jimmy said. He gestured impatiently.

"Did you just point at my cock?"

"I-" Jimmy blushed and pulled his hands around his body as if they had just disobeyed him and needed to be punished. His lips were gaping like a fish gasping for air as he struggled to explain something his brain had probably blocked off with an impassable brick wall. He had drunk himself into a corner-he'd be so easy to take advantage of, just this once...

"You like it?" Robert said brusquely, tilting his head to one side and running a finger across his bottom lip. "When I rub up against you? Thrust my hips at you? Groan in your ear?" He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "Lucky you, that you've got a guitar to hide the bulge in your trousers, ‘cos I sure as hell don't."

Behind a faltering poker face, Jimmy was floundering.

"I do it for you," Robert finished. "And you love every minute of it, don't you?"

After what might have been a few seconds or a good five minutes, Jimmy gave him an answer. Robert nearly burst out laughing in delirious, disbelieving delight as he was forced onto his back, the other man's body pushing at him furiously-a knee forcing his legs apart, elbows pinning his shoulders to the bed, hands clawing his hair away from his face, lips imprisoning Robert's own in a febrile, livid kiss. They tore into each other for all they were worth, gorging themselves on what they had been denied for so long. There was a minor disagreement as to what to do when they had gotten their clothes off; Robert graciously relented even though he had been dreaming for several years of sheathing himself inside that perfect ass. One night on the bottom wasn't going to kill him-far from it. He found his own way to leave a territorial mark on Jimmy's body, clutching the slim hips with bruising force as Jimmy thrust into him, pulling him in as deeply and with as much force as possible, holding the other man so that he couldn't possibly escape. It was over too quickly, of course. Robert was too excited to relax his tense muscles and Jimmy was too hammered to last very long. The singer tried to memorize every detail of the other man's body, how he looked as he stroked in and out, curls swinging around his neck, face contorted and brow stitched with sweat, the ridge of his collarbone catching the light from the bedside lamp, and how it felt when Jimmy was above him and inside him, legs squeezing him, arms holding him down, chest rubbing against his own, and that incredible, forbidden feeling of being so completely _filled_.

The next morning Jimmy managed to be awake before Robert, despite having a debilitating hangover. Robert peered secretly from beneath his curtain of hair, watching in bittersweet, lust-filled gratification the wince and the look of pain on Jimmy's face as he pulled his jeans back up over his sore hips. He let the guitarist leave without saying a thing, unsure if he had just made a grave mistake. Whether or not anything and everything that had happened was right or wrong was pretty much a useless debate anyhow.

And now with the coming of another season, the situation was no less troubling. Over the summer months they had found breathless minutes to steal kisses, cop feels, the occasional hand job or blow job, and these autumn recording sessions had brought more time to be together again. It wasn't as if Robert wanted Jimmy to declare their love (was that the right word? He didn't know) to the world, to get married and settle down, anything drastic or ridiculous as that. He was just tired of the hot-and-cold treatment. It wasn't in his nature to enjoy being at another's beck and call, even if it was Jimmy's. How could he explain to the other man that it didn't have to be so hard and complicated as Jimmy was making it?

The days progressed, filled with the kind of magic that produced recordings of an immortal caliber-every demo, every take, every microphone adjustment, every drunken idea shaped into a stanza of substantial song lyrics, every laugh they shared and every logistical snarl they untangled brought them closer into that kind of musical affinity necessary for accomplishing anything great. There was plenty to do to keep them all busy, and the routine they settled into was actually very comforting to Robert, reminding him why he was in this band in the first place. As pressing as the matter of his personal bond with Jimmy was, it was comforting that it could take a backseat to the importance of creating something. The headway the band was making seemed to calm Jimmy down considerably, until he and Robert were nearly back to normal, trading friendly barbs, sharing drinks and smokes and ideas for songs, telling stories, just being themselves again. At some point Robert had to admit to himself that he would probably be willing to give up any chance at physical intimacy with his guitarist if only to preserve this rapport. Key word: probably. It wasn't as if he could make his feelings and physical urges evaporate at will.

As was usually the case, the task fell to Robert to take a first stab at some lyrics to go with the wordless composition Jimmy had been working on for what felt like ages. The guitarist would wander around the grange with an acoustic strapped to his chest, strumming idly the unnamed musical theme on a seemingly endless loop. Jimmy was more or less one of those people who incessantly whistles the same tune to himself, until everyone around him has not only got it stuck in their heads, but eventually feels the compulsive need to give him a sharp kick in the shins whenever he enters the room still obliviously whistling away.

An ambiguous sky was hanging over their heads on this particular morning, unsure whether to burst forth with sunshine or let loose a torrential downpour upon the East Hampshire countryside. By the sound of thunderous snoring from the second-floor hallway, Bonzo was still deep in slumber. John Paul was clattering politely around the kitchen-Robert heard the assorted clanks and dings of pots and ceramic plates and silverware and felt a surge of fondness for the bassist-and the perpetual whistler known as Jimmy Page was perched at the dining room table in the room next to the kitchen, still picking doggedly away at his song. Robert slid into the chair across from him, notepad and pencil in hand. Jimmy showed him a brief smile in greeting as he continued to play. The hand that held the pencil hovered bleakly above the notepad, the page still as blank as Robert's mind. He closed his eyes and let the music ebb and flow over him, waiting for something to cross his mind.

It happened so fast that one moment he was sitting back, nearly meditative, and the next second he was staring down at the short string of words that had just appeared, scrawled in graphite across the paper. His breath caught in his throat as he went over the words again and again. And then another dam was flooding over, spilling forth the words from his head onto the paper, relentlessly cascading forth until the sheet was filled.

Weakly he let the pencil drop from his hand and roll to a stop a few feet away on the tabletop. His senses began to function properly again, his ears letting in the crackle of the frying pan on the stove, the opening and shutting of cabinets, the chirping of a few brave birds in the trees outside, and streaming indelibly through it all, the thread of the song on Jimmy's guitar.

He cleared his throat and pushed the words across the table. Jimmy glanced down quickly, then in the double-take to end all double-takes, slowly moved his eyes back to the paper, his hands reducing speed until they were motionless on the guitar, and he was completely still except for his eyes darting back and forth and his lips moving slightly, mouthing the words as he read. In slow motion he lifted his head to lock eyes with Robert. His own eyes were unmistakably gleaming.

"Have you got any ideas for a melody?" he said in hushed tones.

Robert shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips and threatening to split his face in half with sheer joy. "Start from the beginning again and we'll work one out," he suggested.

After that bolt from the blue, they couldn't seem to act fast enough to keep up with the torrent of ideas gathering impatiently in their minds. Jimmy kept offering Robert the same _this is it_ look across the table, across the equipment as they set it up, across the room as the four of them assembled to rush headlong into something that felt like destiny.

There were the requisite adjustments, ideas thrown in and thrown out again, brief squabbles, takes ruined by Bonzo shouting something ridiculous or Robert bungling the words he had just written and everyone dissolving into laughter. They decided to keep the drums silent for the first half of the song-Jimmy had to wheedle a little with a skeptical Bonzo, telling him it would be that much more transcendent and epic when the drums finally did come in. "And I'll be drumming underneath your solo, won't I?" Bonzo teased.

They had to break for the day for lack of access to any and all possible musical sounds they might need. "It'd be like trying to paint the _Mona Lisa_ with only a few different colors," mused Jimmy. "We're going to need at least different colors-tracks, tracks, I mean-of some wind instrument, recorders, maybe. Good God, I need a drink."

"Hear, hear," Bonzo intoned.

Later on, Robert was leaning up against the back door with a beer in one hand, humming quietly to himself the tune to the words he had crafted. He felt a light touch on his shoulder.

"Care for a stroll?" Jimmy said.

"Er-in the woods?"

"No, Percy, in circles round the first floor. Yes, in the woods."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST chapter on Wed 23 Dec :)


	15. Chapter 15

"No, Percy, in circles round the first floor. Yes, in the woods."

"Don't you take that tone with me, Page," Robert said sternly.

"You watch your mouth," Jimmy warned. "Have you forgotten how to respect your elders?"

"Of course I haven't, you old fogey," Robert retorted. He gave their surroundings a passing glance before taking a pass at Jimmy. He darted his hand out and gave the brunette's backside-looking nonchalantly delectable as usual in a pair of dark-wash bellbottoms-a light, playful squeeze.

Jimmy seized his singer's wrist and guided them both outdoors. Robert had a faint recollection of John Paul saying something about how it was certainly going to rain later on today, but he mentioned nothing to Jimmy. Right now he was content to be led wherever the guitarist wanted him to go, as long as they were alone together, rain or no rain. 

Hardly five minutes into their stroll, the tree trunks thickening around them as they walked further into the forest, a monstrous thunderclap rent the sky. The humid air groaned and shuddered, and the woods resounded as if a horrific car crash had just taken place not ten feet away from the two men. Jimmy flinched and stumbled straight into Robert's chest. The blonde instinctively sheltered his friend in his arms and thought to himself that thunder was one of the most wonderful sounds in the whole universe.

The assault continued with a blinding flash of lightning that fleetingly lit up the woods like a strange dreamscape. There was the sound of faint grumbling as if an avalanche was occurring somewhere in the distance, and then with another deafening, metallic clang, the sky burst into a merciless downpour of rain.

"It's so beautiful," Robert said in wonderment.

"We're going to die," Jimmy groaned.

"It's just rain, pet," Robert soothed, feeling both maturely superior and strangely lightheaded at the same time. The water filtered quickly through the leafy canopy and set to work soaking them both to the bone.

"You're not supposed to stand beneath a tree in a storm-"

"That's if there's only one tree. The lightning has plenty to choose from, see?"

"Oh, good-so now all we have to do is arbitrarily pick a tree and pray we won't get struck."

"Yes, essentially. So, Jimmy," Robert said brightly, "what looks good to you? Where would you like to take refuge?"

Jimmy brushed the tip of his nose against Robert's, licking a few stray drops of rainwater off of his lips. His eyelashes were heavy and glistening with droplets of moisture, more raindrops shunting gently onto his cheeks every time he blinked and traveling down his face like tears. "Here," he said softly, pressing himself into Robert's chest and wrapping his arms around the other man's shoulders. Two pairs of eyes slid shut, two heads slanted as if by choreography, and two pairs of lips met without another word as the rain faded into the background.

When they broke the kiss, Robert's conscience was needling at him to say something, anything, but no words seemed good enough, or even necessary. In the middle of the rainstorm, the wet, hot air, their bodies shivering at the dampness of their clothes and at the ecstasy of being so close, he felt so blissful that he was almost numb with the sensation. They combed their fingers through each other's hair, panting a little, relishing the feeling of it all. Jimmy tucked several wet, wayward strands behind Robert's ears and held the younger man's face in his palms, caressing every inch of Robert's face with his dark green eyes.

"Robert," he whispered. "Perhaps I've never made it fully clear. Every day I thank my lucky stars that fate put us here, together. I am convinced that it could never have been anyone else besides you. We were meant for this."

That was all he said, all he _could_ say, but somehow it was enough.

\----

The last night of their sessions at Headley Grange, they went out to the nearby pub in a kind of celebration, not of being finished by any means, but of making a significant dent in the album's progress that would allow them to return to Atlantic Studios in London with something to show for their time away. Something big, bigger than ever before-they could all feel it. Jimmy had already put in a call to the Gibson guitar company about getting something custom-built that could serve his needs for a certain massive song they were about to unleash on the world. Bonzo had jokingly put in that he would need two bass drums to go with Jimmy's double-necked guitar, and, "While we're at it, give Percy two microphones."

"What does Jonesy get?" Robert inquired, smacking his lips after a gratifying slurp of his ale.

"What _doesn't_ Jonesy get?" Bonzo said mock-grudgingly. "A couple of Hammonds, some recorders and mandolins and banjoes and whatever else Jimmy reckons we need. You've been relegated, you realize, to the role of multi-instrumentalist, Jonesy. Never mind that you play bass guitar. If we need a flute or some crap like that, it's you who's going to be sputtering away at it. Jimmy, you've turned him into that bloody one-man-band chimney sweep from _Mary Poppins._ "

"Oh, and that reminds me, the chimney at my house needs a good sweeping," Jimmy said drily. "If you could do that when we get back to London."

"Of course," said John Paul. "Though I'll have to check my datebook to make sure I haven't got any previous chimney sweeping engagements."

The four of them sat in contented silence for a moment, contemplating the drinks between their palms and the musical ideas that had been taking glorious shape in their brains.

"This tour is going to be absolute fucking chaos. Truly. Utter madness," Bonzo announced. "The stuff we're going to do-the world won't know what hit ‘em. Just think on it. Robert screaming and wailing like never before, John Paul playing three bleeding recorders all at once, Jimmy, you know, being Jimmy..."

"And your mad-rhinoceros drumming, don't forget," said Robert.

"Absolute fucking chaos," Bonzo affirmed.

"Fucking chaos, eh?" said Robert, his voice dipping to indicate the double entendre.

Jimmy tutted long-sufferingly, as if he had been assigned against his will to supervise a gang of hopelessly immature adolescents.

"Oy, hush, you. Don't give us any of that ‘it's all about the music' claptrap," Robert chided as an aside, elbowing Jimmy affectionately. "We can all attest to the fact that you shamelessly exploit your musical talents. Really, can you imagine Pagey doing anything else, like being a shopkeeper or a painter, perhaps?"

"Then he'd be getting absolutely no sugar in his tea, surely," Bonzo snorted.

"Fine," Jimmy said. His lips twisted in futile resistance of a good-natured grin. "Point taken, gentlemen."

Bonzo turned back to Robert to resume the discussion of anticipated sugar to be gotten on the tour for their upcoming album. "Indeed, Perce. We'll be shagging them like the Blitz. Especially Jimmy, I reckon. The randy little bugger'll be getting twice as much lay now that he's got a guitar with two bleeding necks. They'll be falling at your feet." He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

"I'll be groaning and prancing around twice as hard as before, just to keep up," said Robert. "Bollocks to you and your poncy doubleneck, Pagey."

Jimmy stuck out his tongue.

"But watch out for this one," Bonzo proclaimed, smacking John Paul on the back a lot harder than was necessary. "He'll lure them birds away when you're not paying attention."

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you mean," John Paul said loftily.

"Oh, yes you do, you do," said Bonzo. "In, eh, what was it, Sydney, back in the spring, y'know, he nicked that fit little thing right out of the hallway-she was en route to Jimmy's room, I believe, and he stopped her and before you can say ‘buggerall' he's talking her into his room and straight out of her clothes, the bastard." He grinned heartily and took another generous swig from his pint.

Jimmy's mouth was hanging open like a door on broken hinges. "Hold on, in-in _Syd_ -" He stared, aghast, at John Paul. Robert hid an incredulous grin behind his own glass of ale. His eyes met Jonesy's briefly over the edges of their respective drinking glasses and they traded a look of sudden understanding.

"You clever twit," Robert murmured, shaking his head admiringly.

"Close your gob, why don't you, before a fly gets in there," Bonzo said to Jimmy.

\----

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it... ;)


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